


Homemade Dynamite

by countessrivers



Series: To Sit In Hell With You [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dark Bruce, M/M, actually most of this fic is just jim gordon, and all the things that go along with that, and some mostly on-screen makeouts, both of the inappropriate kind, implications of/allusions to stockholm syndrome, thinking about how much he loves his adopted son bruce, with some mostly off-screen bloodshed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 10:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14999078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessrivers/pseuds/countessrivers
Summary: "Jeremiah wasn’t content sitting in Arkham, biding his time and building up a following the way his brother had been. Thanks to however the hell he was getting his hands on men and resources, he was generally out as soon as humanly possible.This is the third time they’ve had him in custody since he murdered Bruce."A future AU set about 2 or so years after the current season, examining what might happen if Jeremiah won, when it came to his plans for Bruce.Written for Week 3 of the Summer of Gotham event.





	Homemade Dynamite

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is being published for Week 3 (Future AU) of the Summer of Gotham (https://summerofgotham.tumblr.com/) event on Tumblr, although I have been working on this awful little 'What if Jeremiah won and got exactly what he wanted in regards to Bruce' AU for a while now.
> 
> This is part 1(although not chronologically the first part) of a longer series that will explore what would happen if Jeremiah succeeded in driving Bruce mad. And more so, if he succeeded in "rebuilding" him. Other parts will go into more detail, but there are hints here of a backstory that is similar to aspects of Harley Quinn and Arkham Knight/Red Hood's background, so if you're familiar with them, just keep that in mind. Ultimately, this is the aftermath of Bruce not so much falling off the deep end, but being well and truly pushed.
> 
> Set about a year and a half, two years after the end of season 4.

“Do you believe in soulmates Jim?”

Jim has quickly gotten used to Jeremiah Valeska’s habit of deflecting a question with a digressive question of his own. Ask him where he’s hidden a bomb and he’ll ask you about pressing assault charges. Ask him about the location of a kidnapping victim and he’ll ask about the latest mayoral campaign. Ask him about a robbery and he’ll start asking you about soulmates. With as many times as they’ve crossed paths, both inside the GCPD and out, it’s something Jim’s become familiar with.

Doesn’t make it any less annoying.

Still, there was no point threatening him. It didn’t work. Verbal threats got you a look that was part amusement, part condescension and part disinterest, while physical threats were met with a blank stare and empty smile at best, and laughter at worst. The only sure-fire way to get a rise out of Jeremiah was to mention his brother. However, let him talk long enough and you were bound to get something. More often than not he would tell you exactly what you wanted to know without any significant prompting. Whether you would be given enough time to do anything about it was another matter entirely.

In the grand scheme of things, Jeremiah was low on Jim’s list current of priorities. Restoring order to the city after the bombings had hit both the GCPD and the underworld hard. Both sides had lost numbers in the clean-up, to each other, and to the odder things that had crawled out of the woodwork. From what Jim had heard, there had been regular meetings happening in the Narrows, supposedly to build alliances and to negotiate over what little territory the GCPD hadn’t clawed back. Jim had no idea where Lee was these days, but he hoped she had the sense to stay out of it.

Despite intentions, the meetings were apparently less about consolidating amongst themselves, and more about a half-dozen or so bosses jockeying for position. Barbara and Oswald seemed to be the frontrunners, their blood-feud as strong as ever, and it looked like the rest were taking sides. Fries and Pike were still around, and Strange had gone back into hiding somewhere. Harvey had also passed on a rumour floated by one of his Narrows contacts that Nygma had supposedly pissed off the wrong person with his riddles at one such meeting, and they had reacted by trying to stab him in the eye. Nygma had apparently moved fast enough to only get it in the cheek, but Harvey had been thrilled at the very idea none the less. Despite agreeing that the idea of someone shutting Nygma up via a knife to the face was, admittedly, somewhat funny, Jim was worried. While a disorganised underworld was, in many ways, better than a unified one, it still meant chaos. Which meant war and blood and innocent people getting caught in the crossfire.

Rumours of a so-called vigilante roaming the streets weren’t helping matters, at least from the GCPD’s perspective. Around four months previously, bodies had started turning up in parks and alleys and on rooftops throughout the city. It had taken a while for them to put the murders together, given that there was nothing obvious connecting them, no calling card suggesting a serial killer was on the loose, and no evidence, other than the bodies, left behind. A handful of sketchy witness reports mentioned a dark , almost shapeless shadow, but nothing concrete or identifiable.

Many of the victims had been familiar to the police, given that more than half had been in and out of various precincts at one point or another. That is what had tipped Jim off to the connection in the first place. From what they could tell, all the victims up until now had been criminals of the worst sort. Rapists, drug dealers, sex traffickers. A doctor from Arkham who had been accused multiple times of abusing his patients. One of the more recent appointees of the Wayne Foundation board whose wife had fallen ill and died under dubious circumstances. Two or three could even be linked directly to Oswald and Barbara’s gangs. 

So yes, in the grand scheme of things, Jeremiah Valeska robbing a Wayne Industries affiliated warehouse was not, on the surface, the biggest problem currently on Jim’s plate. But with this particular mad man, there was always something more, and if nothing else, the city was safer with him behind bars, however briefly.

The longest they’ve managed to keep Jeremiah in Arkham is three weeks. And that is only because he had been heavily sedated for two of them. For all that Jim and the DA and even the Wayne Foundation have tried, corruption permeates the asylum and its staff like rot. Out of date security systems, skeleton staff, and negligent and abusive guards meant it was hard to keep anyone in Arkham, much less a criminal of Valeska’s caliber. Jeremiah wasn’t content sitting in Arkham, biding his time and building up a following the way his brother had been. Thanks to however the hell he was getting his hands on men and resources, he was generally out as soon as humanly possible.

This is the third time they’ve had him in custody since he murdered Bruce.

(The first time was just shy of a month after Jim had received the tape recording Bruce’s last moments. They had gotten lucky, catching Jeremiah and his followers before they could level half of the Diamond District with whatever new explosive device the man had built. Jim had been prepared to shoot him on the spot, and had stayed his hand only because there were questions he wanted the answers to. If Jim’s being honest with himself, he knows that if it hadn’t been for Harvey eventually pulling him away, he would have killed Valeska. Would have beaten him to death in the middle of a GCPD interrogation room.

Jim remembers the man just taking it, the same way he had after the City Hall bombing. No taunts, no laughter, no confessions, no demands. Just dead eyes and a mocking smile that only made Jim angrier.

The arrest had ended with the severely injured criminal being transferred from the central precinct directly to Arkham’s medical wing. No one had asked any questions regarding Jeremiah’s state, and in fact the staff had seemed happy enough to keep him strapped down and sedated into unconsciousness for as long as possible. Hardly surprising given their prior interactions with Jerome Valeska, and Jeremiah’s own reputation. Jim hadn’t liked the idea of sparing the man any pain, but it was thought that an unconscious Jeremiah Valeska was a Jeremiah Valeska that couldn’t cause any trouble.

It had worked, and Jim had slept, if not easy, then easier, knowing the mad man was behind bars. Right up until the doctors started weaning him of the drugs. Within a week, the northern section of the facility was on fire, one doctor, two inmates and four guards were dead, and Jeremiah was once again on the loose.

The second time, Jeremiah hadn’t even make it to Arkham. Not wanting to risk an escape from the precinct, they had transferred him almost immediately. The transport had been accompanied by two patrol cars and almost a dozen heavily armed officers, but that hadn’t stopped whoever had broken him out. Oddly enough, that escape had struck Jim as neater, more precise than the others. Approximately a mile from the asylum, the tires of all three vehicles had been shot out, the guards and officers swiftly dispatched, and Valeska set free. Judging from the marks left on their necks, Valeska had used his handcuffs to strangle at least two of the guards in the van, while the others had either bled out, or been knocked unconscious. Those outside had been picked off almost expertly by the same sniper who took out the vehicles.

The few who survived the attack had given Jim little to go on. While it was clear that Jeremiah’s followers in general were responsible for springing their leader, the police still had no names or faces or even numbers. The assailants had taken advantage of the late hour and poorly lit, isolated road, along with smoke bombs to mask their identities and escape. Aside from his old proxy Ecco, Jim still has no clue as to whether Jeremiah was working with anyone besides batches of interchangeable, disposable grunts.)

“I don’t suppose you would, given your checkered romantic history.” Jeremiah continues. “Or are you still perhaps hold out hope for ‘The One’?”

Jim grits his teeth, trying not to get drawn in.

“You know, that one person who comes into your life and they’re everything you could have ever possibly wanted? The person you would move heaven and earth for?” Jeremiah pauses, an odd look in his eye. “Have you ever loved someone enough Jim, that all you want to do is put them first? Help them reach their full potential, even when it’s hard? Even when it’s painful? Even when they fight you? Someone you would die for?”

“You’re a psychopath,” Jim spits out. “You wouldn’t know the first damn thing about love. Now quit stalling and answer the damn question.”

The look Jeremiah gives Jim is so full of condescension that it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to slam the man’s face into the table.

Again.

The bruising around Valeska’s eyes and the traces of blood on his face can already attest to Jim’s short temper.

“Of course, my apologies detectives. You were huffing and puffing and threatening me with harm over...what was it again?”

“The Wayne Tech warehouse robbery,” Harvey barks, leaning down to get into Jeremiah’s face. “You, and a bunch of your nutty disciples were caught on tape breaking into a Wayne Tech storage warehouse and making off with a truck load off stuff.”

“Oh, right, that robbery. Well I can understand your concern. I don’t doubt that in the wrong hands the items stolen could do quite a lot of damage. But don’t fret gentlemen, they’re safe and sound, in precisely the right hands.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call your hands the right ones,” Jim says. 

“Now Jim, don’t make assumptions. I never said I had them.”

Jeremiah smirks coolly at them, and that pulls Jim up.

“What do you mean? You’re telling me you broke into a secure storage facility, stole millions in prototype weaponry and tech, and then what? Gave it away? Sold it?”

“Neither Jim,” Jeremiah says in a falsely patient tone. “I simply ensured it was all returned to the proper owner.” He pauses, staring up at the ceiling for a moment and tapping his nails against the table. “And I mean was hardly breaking and entering, considering that, for all intents and purposes, I had the key. Plus, is it really robbery if the person who technically owns-?”

Jeremiah is cut off mid-sentence by the power going out. There’s a handful of seconds before the emergency lights kick in where Jim’s heart is in his throat. Call him paranoid, but there’s no way, with Valeska in custody, that this blackout is accidental. Despite the fact that he’s securely chained to the table, part of Jim expects Jeremiah to just vanish in the dark, or else sneak up behind him and slit his throat. 

However, the emergency lights do switch on, and when they do, Jeremiah is still in his chair, safely secured to the table as far as Jim can see, although sporting worryingly pleased look. The lighting in the room makes his unnaturally pale skin and abnormal eyes even more unnerving. He’s staring right at Jim and for a moment it throws him off balance.

“It’s a bit hard to tell from down here,” Jeremiah says. “But I don’t think we were due for a storm tonight. Although, it is an old building, I can’t imagine the wiring is up to scratch.”

“Jim,” Harvey says, ignoring their prisoner. “You any idea what this is about?”

“Or is it budget cuts? City Hall not sending you enough to keep the lights on? Maybe you should have stuck with the generator Mr Fox pilfered from me.”

“You, shut it,” Jim says as he reaches for his radio. “Keep an eye on him would you,” He nods towards Harvey. “I’ll see what’s going on.”

Turning towards the door, Jim switches the volume on his radio up, and pushes down the talk button.

“Harper, what the hell is going on?”

“Captain,” Harper’s voice crackles through the radio. The reception isn’t great, but that was par for the course in certain spots around the precinct. Jim’s been trying to get it fixed for years, but the fact that the radios are working at all is good. “You okay in there?”

“We’re fine,” Jim replies. “Sitting tight for now. What happened?”

“Whole building’s out. Emergency lighting in some areas, but not all.”

“No explosions? Nothing obvious to explain what caused it.”

“No. Although I checked outside and it appears to be localised to just us.”

“What do you mean?” Jim asks, his unease mounting.

“Well, I mean us and the building behind, but otherwise, the rest of the block still has power. Plus, no one seems to have any reception on their phones. They’re working fine otherwise, but it doesn’t look like we’ll be able to call out.”

Jim takes a moment to cover his eyes and think. 

“This isn’t normal is it Captain? Something’s up?” Jim can hear the unease in her voice. It’s not fear, not yet, but Harper knows something is seriously wrong.

“Right,” he says. “Secure the cells, send at least two people down to the check circuit breaker, and see about getting in contact with any of the other precincts. Keep people on all the doors and windows too. No one leaves the building until we get the power back on. Got it Harper?”

“Copy Ca-“

The radio cuts out entirely.

“Harper? Harper?” 

No response, not even static.

Jim slowly lets out a breath, counting down in his head to avoid hurling his radio against the wall.

“Is there any chance my radio just coincidently chose this second to break completely?” Jim asks, turning towards Harvey.

“No such luck. I’ve got nothing either,” Harvey replies as he checks the signal on his own radio. 

Moving towards the door, Jim knocks twice, grabbing the attention of one of the officers outside.

“Captain. Everything okay in there? Do you need to come out?”

Jim doesn’t intend on leaving Valeska alone, even for a moment, so for now, he’s stuck inside.

“No Williams, keep the door locked,” he says. “We’re fine for the moment. Emergency lights are on, but the radios are down.”

“Ours too,” says the officer.

“Alright. I checked in with Harper and apparently the whole building is out. I need the three of you to hold this corridor. Nothing comes down it, and nothing comes in or out of this room. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. Absolutely. Whatever it takes.”

“Good man.”

“Alright freakshow,” Harvey says, turning towards Jeremiah and slamming his hands down on the table. “What the hell is going on, and how are you doing it?”

“Me?” Valeska asks, eyes wide in feigned confusion. “I’ve been here all night. I doubt I’ve been left alone for even a second the whole time. How could I be doing anything?”

Harvey reaches forward and hauls Jeremiah out of his seat by his vest. 

“Listen here you piece of-“

Harvey’s threat is cut off by a yell from the corridor.

Jim spins around, but before he can even take a step towards the door scream echoes down the corridor.

“Who’s there?” he hears one of the officers shout. “Show yourse-“ 

There’s a choking, gasping noise, and Williams starts swearing. Someone fires off a shot, but Jim has no way of knowing who fired, or if they hit their target. 

More shots, and another scream that might have been Jiang.

“Williams?” Jim shouts. Leaving the room would be idiotic, because leaving Valeska unsupervised was just asking for trouble, and Jim has no idea who or what is outside, meaning they’re effectively pinned down. But the idea of leaving his men to die doesn’t sit well with him, regardless of logic.

The only answer to Jim’s call is the thump of a body hitting the door, and then silence.

Jim pulls out his gun, signalling wordlessly at Harvey as he does the same. Jim aims towards the door, finger steady on the trigger guard as he strains to hear anything from the corridor. It’s gone quiet. The officers outside are all either unconscious or dead, and even Valeska has fallen silent, although Jim can practically feel the manic glee radiating off him, and that does not bode well. It’s clear that whoever is outside the door is here for him.

Jim hears a click from above and the room is once again plunged into darkness as the emergency lights cut out.

“Harv-,” Jim’s warning is interrupted by something heavy dropping onto his shoulders and wrapping around his neck. In the time it takes for him to realise it’s a body, the intruder has already shifted their weight and is pulling them both towards the ground.

Jim rolls enough to avoid smashing his head on the floor, but it means he lands heavily on his side, knocking the wind out of him.

“What the fuck?” Harvey exclaims from over near the door.

Clawing at the thighs wrapped around his neck, Jim struggles to regain his breath. Valeska has started laughing, and as Harvey yells at him to shut up, Jim blindly slams the butt of his gun into the intruder’s knee.

There’s a soft hiss, and the legs loosen enough for Jim to roll out of the way. The intruder recovers quickly, as Jim almost immediately feels the sharp sting of a knife slice across the back of his shoulder. The pain makes him drop his gun, and he hears it clatter across the floor as it’s kicked away. As Jim springs back to his feet, Harvey lets out a grunt as he is slammed into the wall.

The emergency lights in the hallway are still working, and the sliver of light filtering through the slot in the door allows Jim glimpses of the intruder. They’re tall, slimmer than Jim, but still fairly broad shouldered.

They’re also fast. Almost unnaturally fast. The room is pitch black, and neither Jim nor Harvey are willing to risk firing off a shot. Whoever this is though, moves as though they can see perfectly well. As though they are accustomed to the dark. 

There’s real force behind their hits, and from the grunts heard when Jim manages to land a blow, they can feel pain well enough, but trying to hold on to them feels like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. The moment Jim grabs an arm or a shoulder, they dance out of his grip, swiftly retaliating with a swipe of their knife, or a blow to the ribs.

Jim is clutching at a particularly deep cut along his right side when he hears the slightest swish of air, followed by Harvey’s scream. There’s a thud as he sinks to the ground, and his swearing is lost under the sound of Valeska, who had, up until this point, been laughing hysterically, gasping for breath.

“Ah, that’s my boy.” 

Jim can see the silhouette of the intruder shift as they turn their attention almost involuntarily towards Valeska. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Jim springs forward, wrapping an arm tight around the intruder’s neck, while grabbing the arm holding the knife and twisting it behind their back.

“Let the knife go and come quietly,” Jim says, tightening his grip and twisting the arm even higher.

“Eh, not really his thing Jimmy, once you get him going, you know?” Jim hears from behind them. 

As he imagines taking the knife and jamming it into Valeska’s eye for the crass joke alone, Jim is unprepared for the foot that slams into his knee hard enough to make his leg give way beneath him. His head bounces as he hits the ground hard, and he is immediately kicked over onto his back. A boot comes down to rest on his neck, pressing down just hard enough to let him know how easy it would be to press down all the way. 

There’s a sudden whirring sound, and another click as the emergency lights flicker back on. Bruised, bleeding and possibly concussed, it takes a moment for Jim’s eyes to adjust to the relative brightness. It takes even longer for him to comprehend the face looking down at him.

It’s not like Jim hasn’t sworn he’s seen Bruce Wayne about a thousand times since he disappeared. Moments when he’s spotted a dark head of hair out of the corner of his eye or caught a glimpse of a familiar-looking silhouette from across the room. The brief surge of hope he had felt each time made the realisation of reality all the more painful.

“Evening Captain Gordon.”

Bruce’s voice is deeper than it was, and for a supposed dead man, he looks good. His shoulders are broader, and while there is the slightest gauntness to his face, cheekbones more defined than they were, it’s clear he hasn’t been starved, at least not recently. More so, even in the dim lighting, Jim can see there are no obvious scars on his face. He’s not entirely sure whether he’s surprised by that or not. Part of him expected missing limbs, mutilation, Jeremiah recreating his brother’s scars on Bruce perhaps. In the immediate aftermath of the kidnaping, Jim’s imagination had conjured up horror after horror, and his only goal had been finding Bruce as quickly as possible. As the months wore on and the search became a recovery operation, the fear had been that by the time they found the body, there wouldn’t be anything left to bury. For Alfred’s sake, for the city’s, and for his own, Jim had been desperate to find and bring Bruce home. To lay him to rest beside his parents. Eventually, when it became clear the GCPD still had no idea where Valeska had kept Bruce, much less what he had done with the body, the hunt had been called off, and an empty casket was solemnly buried beside Martha Wayne’s. Bruce being denied a proper burial was just another point on the long list of ways Jim knew he had failed the boy.

But Bruce is here, whole and alive and standing before Jim, and it’s everything he has prayed for since Bruce disappeared all those months ago. If he’s being honest, it’s all he’s wanted since he walked into that alley and sat down next to a shaking, shattered boy whose world was falling down around him. Bruce is alive and it’s the only thing Jim can see, feel and think.

He’s alive. He’s alive. Bruce is alive.

Bruce is also, however, covered in blood, and little, if any of it, seems to be his own. There are flecks of it drying across his face, and while the black of his clothing hides a lot, this close Jim can spot a number of tell-tale sheens. He’s having trouble registering the fact that Bruce killed his way in here. That three of Jim’s officers lie dead or dying outside the door, with who knows how many more bleeding out elsewhere in the precinct. The blackout had obviously been Bruce’s way inside, but Jim doubts he would have made it to the hallway outside the interrogation room without encountering at least one other officer.

As if sensing the direction of Jim’s thoughts, Bruce presses his foot down harder, still not hard enough to cut off his air supply, but enough that Jim is starting to struggle.

“Bruce,” is all he manages to choke out. 

Jim lifts a hand and wraps it around Bruce’s ankle. He’s not even thinking about using it to throw Bruce off. He simply wants confirmation. Wants to feel Bruce, solid and alive, with his own two hands. His boots are too thick to get any real sense of body heat, much less feel his pulse, but it’s more than enough for Jim. Bruce simply looks down at him, eyebrow raised and eyes fever bright in the dim light, yet strangely empty in a way that unnerves Jim. Bruce makes a considering noise, head tilted to the side as he twirls the knife idly in his hand. No one moves for a breath. Two, three, until the sound of a clearing throat shatters the silence. 

“You certainly took your time,” Jeremiah says. When Jim looks over he’s got his elbows propped up on the table, chin resting on his hands as his eyes flick rapidly between the room’s three other occupants. “I was worried I was going to have to suffer through a whole night in here. The beds are uncomfortable, service is terrible, the coffee tastes like garbage, even when you add sugar, and I’m already bored out of my mind.” 

Jim sees Bruce’s mouth quirk ever so slightly.

“Not to mention how violent they all seem to be, our honourable Captain included. I mean, it’s not that I don’t enjoy it a bit rough, you know that, but my nose can only take so much, and honestly darling, it’s just not quite the same when it’s not coming from you.”

“You shouldn’t have let yourself get caught then,” Bruce replies.

Jim’s having trouble wrapping his head around what the hell is actually going on, but the fact that Bruce clearly isn’t here to kill Valeska is getting harder and harder for him to ignore.

Although his boot is still resting on his neck, Bruce is no longer looking at Jim, and has in fact barely spared Harvey a glance since the lights came back on. Jim risks a quick glance behind him to check on his partner, and sees Harvey slumped against the wall, hand pined in place above his head with some sort of blade. As far as Jim can tell, Harvey hasn’t made a move to pull it out, as he is too busy staring in shock at what appears to be Bruce Wayne, alive, if not entirely well, standing bloody in the middle of a GCPD interrogation room, staring at a handcuffed Jeremiah Valeska.

While Bruce had looked down at Jim with an unnerving level of apathy, he stares at Valeska with something akin to desperation.

Jim remembers standing in Jeremiah’s bunker what feels like a lifetime ago, desperately trying to convince the man to give himself up to his brother. He knows, as he knew back then, that it was nothing that him or Lucius had said that had ultimately won Jeremiah over to the plan. It had all been Bruce. He remembers watching Bruce’s genuine, albeit slightly manipulative, appreciation for Jeremiah’s work, his intellect. Remembers Jeremiah’s surprised and flattered reaction. Remembers how as Bruce examined the generator model, Jeremiah examined him. At the time Jim hadn’t thought too much of it, more concerned with stopping Jerome, and afterwards, as the dust settled and Jerome was buried for good, he had spared only the barest of thoughts for Jeremiah, beyond a general sense of pity for the young man who, in a day, had been held hostage, assaulted, and had lost the last remaining blood relative he had. There had been the slightest nagging thought in the back of his mind that warned him he should keep an eye on the remaining Valeska, but he had brushed it aside, too busy dealing with Lee and Nygma and the bank robberies to dwell on it in any detail.

He remembers experiencing an uneasy feeling in his gut when Alfred informed him Bruce had been meeting with Jeremiah alone, regularly, but had assumed, given the threat at the time, it was simply concern for the two people Jerome’s followers were most likely to go after. In fact, he had been relieved Bruce was no longer drinking, and god knows what else, his way through Gotham’s more lax establishments. Bruce was an adult, technically, and if he wanted to spend his time meeting with a reclusive engineer whose twin brother had tried to kill him, he was more than welcome too. Jim wishes now that he had listened to his gut and locked Jeremiah up or put a bullet in his head when he had the chance. Stopped him before he shot Selina, before he blew up half the city and plunged it into chaos, before he killed dozens of people, before he got his hands on Bruce.

Bruce lifts his foot, and Jim sucks in a grateful breath, but his relief is short lived as Bruce lands an absentminded kick to Jim’s head as he steps over him, moving towards the table. Jim curls in on himself, closing his eyes as he attempts to breathe through the pain. His head is spinning and behind his eyes he sees stars. It’s possible he passes out because the next thing he is aware of is the sound of metal handcuffs clattering to the floor. He opens his eyes to see Jeremiah out of his chair, arms wrapped around Bruce.

It honestly takes Jim a moment to comprehend what he is seeing. Bruce’s hands are clenched in Jeremiah’s hair, and he’s using the grip to hold the older man in place while he kisses him. Jeremiah has an arm wrapped around Bruce’s lower back, while the other claws at Bruce’s thigh in an attempt to pull him closer. Bruce moves with it, pushing up against Jeremiah and moaning into his mouth. 

They turn around, kicking the chair out of the way and moving until Jeremiah is leaning back against the table. Bruce is still scrambling to get as close as possible, and Jeremiah responds by hiking up Bruce’s leg and wrapping it around his waist. Bruce releases Jeremiah’s mouth, using his grip to tilt Jeremiah’s head to the side, and brushes his lips along his jaw and down his neck. Jeremiah eyes slip shut, and he lets out a curse when Bruce bites down hard on his neck.

Bruce lets go after a moment, licking up Jeremiah’s neck in what might be considered an apology. Jeremiah rolls their hips together, and they stare at each other briefly before ducking back down again. Before their lips can meet, there’s a hiss from Jeremiah, and Bruce quickly pulls back, unwrapping his leg from around Jeremiah’s waist.

Jim can see Jeremiah wince as he twitches his nose, and he is unashamedly pleased that the man is in pain. “Good,” he thinks. “I should have done more than break your damn nose.”

“What is it?” Jim hears Bruce ask.

“Just my nose. I’ve already set it, but still, having your face smashed into a table does tend to leave a mark.”

Bruce releases Jeremiah’s hair, pulls back further and shifts his arms down to loosely loop around his neck. The arm Jeremiah has around Bruce’s waist stays where it is, but he brings his other hand up and rests his palm against Bruce’s cheek. Bruce tilts his head into the touch, as Jeremiah brushes his thumb gently against Bruce’s cheekbone, the movement smudging the blood still drying there.

“Are you sure it’s just your nose?” Bruce asks.

“Hmmmm, ribs are twinging a bit, but that’s no doubt from when they slammed me down over the hood of the cop car during the arrest.”

There’s something like a growl from Bruce. From his position Jim can’t see Bruce’s face fully, but whatever Jeremiah sees seems to please him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve had far worse. But it’s sweet of you to care.”

“Of course I care. I’m here aren’t I?

“My hero,” Jeremiah says with a smile. “My knight in shining armour.” Jeremiah shifts his hands and places them on Bruce’s hips, leaning in close, mouth at Bruce’s ear as he slowly strokes his hands up and down Bruce’s sides. “What would I do without you?”

Bruce shudders almost imperceptibly, leaning in against Jeremiah’s body.

“There’s no one else I can trust but you, no one else I would want by my side. God you have no idea how incredible you are Bruce. How much I adore you.”

Jeremiah is murmuring almost frantically now, interspersing his words with bites along Bruce’s ear and jaw. 

“You and me. Together. Always,” Bruce whispers back. “That’s all that matters.”

Jim feels faint. He wants to close his eyes again, blind himself. But he can’t look away. Doesn’t dare.

He should have know. He should have fucking known the video was a fake. Since the fiasco with the generator bombs they had quickly established that Jeremiah wasn’t planning on killing Bruce any time soon. Hurt him, kidnap him, drug him? Yes. Kill his friends and loved ones? Yes. But not him. At the time Jim had figured Jeremiah had simply gotten bored with Bruce. He’d been too consumed with grief and guilt and rage to really think properly, but in hindsight, hadn’t that always been Jeremiah’s goal? To turn Bruce. To break him. The kidnaping of Alfred, the alliance with Ra’s, basically everything Jeremiah had done while the city was in chaos had been about isolating Bruce, making him vulnerable. Kidnapping Bruce, keeping him for months, even faking his death was just Jeremiah’s latest attempt at that. Jim was a fucking idiot for not seeing it and his blindness had cost them all.

He can’t let this get any further, can’t let this mad man escape again, so with the two younger men distracted, Jim carefully shifts into a crouch. He makes eye contact with Harvey as he inches his hand towards his gun. Harvey has yet to move from the wall, but he acknowledges Jim’s look with a nod.

Jim’s hand closes around his gun, and he stops, barely daring to breathe, sure that he’s going to be noticed. But he hears nothing from behind him except for the continued hushed whispers of Bruce and Jeremiah, so he takes a firmer hold, climbs to his feet, ignoring the spinning of his head, and raises the gun.

“Hands above your heads, now. Both of you.”

Bruce flinches minutely, as if he had forgotten Jim was in the room. He turns around slowly, and something like annoyance flickers across his face. It’s gone quickly enough, replaced by a hard look as he eyes the gun. Jeremiah shifts behind him, hands still resting on Bruce’s hips, but he positions himself so that Bruce is directly between them.

Jim can’t help but think back to the children’s gala all those years ago. Bruce is so much taller now. Even without the physical knife to his throat he makes a much more effective human shield, and Jim highly doubts someone’s going to jump up from behind and stab this particular Valeska in the neck.

Jim’s not that lucky.

“I said hands up. On the ground, hands above your heads, now, or I will shoot.”

“Will you Jim?” Bruce says, raising an eyebrow. “Would you really shoot me?”

“Move Bruce,” Jim forces out. His hands are shaking, and it hurts to breath and he tells himself it’s just the concussion and the broken rib. “That man is a monster and I will shoot him through you if I have to.”

“Really?” Bruce sounds almost amused. “Because I honestly don’t think you will.” 

Bruce moves forward, eyes trained not on the gun pointed at him, but on Jim’s face. While earlier there had been an unsettling blankness behind his eyes, now there’s a fire. He stops just out of reach, not pushing up against the barrel of the gun, or doing anything in particular to egg Jim on, but from the look in his eye, Jim can tell Bruce wants him to pull the trigger.

Jeremiah hasn’t moved any closer and is in fact watching Bruce and Jim with a kind of rapt attention that borders on hunger. His gaze flits between Jim, the gun, and the back of Bruce’s head, and he doesn’t seem at all worried about his own safety, or Bruce’s. His position has indeed left him open, but with Bruce still in front of him, and Jim’s shaky aim, it’s unlikely he would be able to take the man down without also hitting Bruce. And that, he knows, deep down, is still the very last thing Jim wants.

Nevertheless, he aims his gun slightly to the left, in line with Bruce’s right shoulder. This close it would be messy, but with medics on site, it wouldn’t be a lethal shot. It would drop Bruce, but it would give Jim enough time to take Valeska out.

There’s a grunt from behind and Jim turns around in time to see Harvey rip the blade from his hand and dive for his gun. Unfortunately, thanks to not being slowed down by pain, Jeremiah was faster. He darts out from behind Bruce and reaches the gun before Harvey does. Jim doesn’t even have a chance to move before the shot rings out. He watches as Harvey crumples to the ground, clutching at his stomach is it spills red over the floor. Valeska pauses to frown at the gun in his hand.

“Huh, aim’s a little off. I was going for the heart.” He shrugs. “Oh well.”

He brings it up to aim at Jim, and before Jim has a chance to react, Bruce takes advantage of his distraction by grabbing his wrist and yanking his arm upwards. Jim loses his grip on the gun, and before he can reorientate himself, Bruce is bringing the butt of the weapon across and slamming it against his temple. Jim is unconscious before he hits the ground, and so he doesn’t Bruce toss the gun aside with a look of disgust. Nor does he see Bruce grab hold of Jeremiah’s wrist and all but drag him out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping to get another part, from Bruce's POV out within the next few weeks - trying real hard to stick to the SoG event timeline.
> 
> (And because I like stressing myself out, but I also require deadlines to get anything done, I've also signed up for the Batjokes Gotham exchange, which, if anyone else is interested, I'd suggest checking it out - https://batjokesgothamexchange.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Anyway, thoughts, comments, rambling is always appreciated.


End file.
